


Cherish

by cyparissus



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Grif and Simmons talk about their feelings for the first time in their miserable lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 11:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17323826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyparissus/pseuds/cyparissus
Summary: “I’m just getting in position for the kiss!” Says the dumb asshole cameraman, and when Simmons looks over at Grif, Grif is already looking at him. Even through the armor, he knows they’re both wearing the same expression and having the same thought: fuck this guy.Deleted scene from s15xe17.





	Cherish

**Author's Note:**

> Made a spontaneous decision to dip back into this dumb web series I was obsessed with about 13 years ago and then suddenly my favorite ship from way back when got (sorta) confirmed and now I've spent the last couple of months writing Grif/Simmons and I cannot stop. I finally decided to pull something out of the small mountain I've written so far and post it.

“I’m just getting in position for the kiss!” Says the dumb asshole cameraman, and when Simmons looks over at Grif, Grif is already looking at him. Even through the armor, he knows they’re both wearing the same expression and having the same thought: fuck this guy. They’ve spent more than their share of time being the fakey-bullshit background fodder for a terrible reality tv show that if they want to talk about their feelings (which is their God-given right) they’re sure as hell not going to let anyone else  _ watch for fun _ . 

Grif gives Simmons a nod and Simmons wheels back with his cybernetic arm and knocks the guy to the ground.

“Nice,” says Grif, nodding approvingly. Simmons snickers. They both stare down at Jax, wearing fond smiles and enjoying the peaceful silence. 

“Grif, listen,” Simmons says, hesitating for a moment before reaching up to take off his helmet, setting it and his rifle gently on the ground. He can tell Grif is staring at him like he’s crazy, and though he can’t help the blush that rears up he barrels on, “Just, you know, thank you. For coming back. For helping us. For… being really smart and cool and all deus ex machina.” Grif pauses and then sighs, reaching up to pull off his helmet, too. He drops his unceremoniously on the ground. He looks uncomfortable and embarrassed, but at the same time he looks… content. Happy, just to be here.

“Yeah, well, you know,” he says, shrugging one shoulder, “It’s not a big deal.”

“No, Grif, it is,” Simmons says, apparently solemn enough that Grif’s head jerks around to stare at him some more, “You… You went through a lot to help us, to help  _ me _ , and I just… I want you to know that it is a big deal to me and I care about youandI’mgladyoudidn’tleaveforever.” Simmons does his damnedest to get that all out in a serious and solemn manner, but halfway through he starts losing his nerve and the rest of it comes out in a rush, half-garbled in his attempt to get the words out before panic closed up his vocal chords and sent him packing. 

Grif stares at him, astonished, something broken open and vulnerable in his expression before he looks down, one hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head in a surprisingly shy gesture. 

“It’s… It’s okay,” he says, very quietly, and Simmons feels his heart start to swell. He thinks about all the times he’d started to say something to Grif, only to realize he wasn’t there, and then the crushing weight of wondering if he’d ever see Grif again. Wondering if he was going to die in this stupid underwater supervillain lair without ever getting to joke with Grif about how stupid it was. He thinks about Grif listing out people he hates and listing out everyone in their little group except for him. A smile tugs insistently at Simmons’ lips and he steps over Jax’s prone form to stand close to Grif. Very close.

“You don’t hate me?” Simmons asks quietly, and Grif looks up again, this time his expression is guarded and he rocks back a little, away from Simmons, and Simmons just holds his ground, his smile slowly growing as a few things snapped into place like the last couple pieces of a 1,000-piece puzzle. Grif, coming back for him. Simmons, dealing with the heartbreak of imagining his life without Grif at his side. Simmons realizes that he is the biggest dumbass in the universe because apparently it took him three separate close calls to open his eyes and see that you  _ cherish  _ people you care about. You lift them up, you hold them close, and you never overlook them. This moment, here with Grif alive and well and wanting to be here with Simmons, this moment seems so astronomically improbable that it’s impossible for Simmons to feel anything but gratitude. 

He’s not sure what’s showing on his face, but he isn’t trying to hide it, and slowly the wariness fades from Grif’s expression. A small, genuine smile breaks out over his face and it takes Simmons’ breath away.

“Yeah, well, you know. You’re all right. For a nerd,” Grif says, his smile turning impish and joyful. Simmons moves forward half a step, just barely inside of Grif’s personal space. Grif doesn’t budge. 

“You’re all right too,” Simmons says, his voice quiet, only meant for Grif to hear. Grif waits for a moment, but Simmons just looks at him, doesn’t follow it up with a barb about Grif’s weight or habits, doesn’t follow it up with any kind of deflection at all. It is, quite possibly, the most terrifying moment of his life. And that’s including all the times he’s been held at gunpoint over the years. Grif’s eyes are wide and he’s blinking, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing and what’s happening, and his eyes flick down from Simmons’ eyes to his lips. 

“Um, Simmons?” Grif says, inching forward until he is well within Simmons’ personal space, and the expression on his face is anxious and joyful and overwhelmed all at once, “About that kiss…” 

Simmons chest does this weird and terrible swoop that takes his breath away, and there are two parts of his brain screaming at once. One side is angry, ashamed, telling him that kissing his male best friend is the worst, most shameful thing he could do. The other side is thrilled, anxious to tread into unfamiliar territory but more than willing to take the plunge, if it means spending time around Grif in a romantic kind of way. 

Simmons tells the angry, ashamed part of him to shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down, you’ll get your turn later, or better yet just fuck off altogether and stop bothering him with your nonsense. 

“Oh Hell yes,” the thrilled side of Simmons whispers, except he actually said that out loud but it doesn’t matter because he muffles Grif’s snort of laughter with his mouth. It’s a little awkward at first, because Grif is still laughing at him, but then Simmons gets his gloves around the back of his neck and Grif goes quiet, kissing him back. It’s  _ also  _ awkward doing this in full body armor; their chest plates clink together when they sway close and Simmons gloves pinch a few hairs at the back of Grif’s neck but it’s fine, they’re fine, they’re kissing and it’s  _ fine _ . 

“Christ,” Grif huffs against his mouth, pulling back just far enough to look Simmons in the eyes, his hand that isn’t holding his rifle curling loosely around Simmons’ waist, and even though Simmons can’t actually feel the contact he still feels tingly. Simmons moves his hands around Grif’s neck to cup his jaw, the movement unthinking but the moment he realizes he did it he flushes and fidgets because  _ oh God that is the most sappy embarrassing thing in the world _ . 

But then Grif reaches up with his free hand, puts it over Simmons’ hand on his face and closes his eyes. Simmons feels like all of his internal organs have melted and drained out of his body, and that’s before Grif opens his mouth.

“I missed you,” he says, so quiet, so reverent, like the words slipped out unnoticed, but then he cracks his eyes open and the look he gives Simmons is so vulnerable, so broken and scared and warm and tender and honest and Simmons makes a dying cat noise. He moves back in, kissing Grif’s lips, his cheek, his jaw, his ear, all in quick succession while he gets his arms around him, pulls him in tightly for the hug of his  _ life _ . He feels like he wants to squeeze that tired, sad loneliness right out of him and just leave the good stuff. 

“I missed you too,” he whispers, right into the side of Grif’s neck, their chest plates squeaking with how hard he’s hugging Grif, “God, so much, Grif, it’s like I’m not a whole person without you there.” While he’s speaking, Grif’s arms come up to return the hug, his rifle clunking against Simmons’ back and his breath gusting out against Simmons’ ear. Simmons wonders, vaguely, how much sappy nonsense he can spout before Grif gets grossed out and stops talking to him. Judging by the shaky way Grif is breathing against his ear, he hasn’t yet reached that point.

They just stand there for a while, holding each other as tightly as they can manage and listening to each other breathe. 

Slowly, Simmons remembers that Dylan is in the next room, and there’s an unconscious body less than a foot away from where they’ve been necking, and he reluctantly starts to pull back. 

“I guess we’d better…” Simmons starts, taking a step back, his hands trailing over Grif’s shoulders and down his arms as they separate. Grif nods, clearing his throat and not quite able to meet Simmons’ eyes. Simmons feels a similar bashfulness turning his cheeks crimson, and he reaches down to pick up his helmet, just so he has something to do with his hands. Grif mirrors his movement, and then they’re both standing there, awkwardly toying with their helmets and not looking at each other.

“After all this is over,” Simmons says, determined not to let his cowardly instincts take over and let this important moment peter out into awkward shuffling and them never talking about it again, “We can… Talk?” Grif looks up at him at that, his eyebrows raised, and Simmons sees a hint of that familiar incredulous smirk that means he thinks Simmons has just done or said something stupid and hilarious. 

“Yeah, ‘cause  _ that  _ sounds like us,” Grif cracks, but there’s something warm and sweet in his eyes. Simmons puffs himself up a little, lifting his chin.

“I’m turning over a new leaf! No more stupid bullshit from me!” Simmons says with a decisive nod and Grif busts up laughing. Simmons puts his helmet back on and then picks up his rifle, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. Grif puts his helmet back on too, still chuckling and shaking his head. Grif inhales like he’s about to say something, but then they both hear Dylan’s footsteps approaching and turn towards her. 

“...What happened to him?” Dylan asks, nodding at Jax sprawled on the ground behind them.

“He tripped,” Grif says flatly, and Simmons snickers. 


End file.
